


A Breath Could Break You

by umadoshi (Ysabet)



Category: Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: (but very close to it), (the breathplay/choking is on the mild side as these things go [and not sustained long]), Adopted Sibling Incest, Breathplay, Choking, Community: fandom_stocking, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Not quite PWP, PIV Sex, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Pre-Canon, Woman on Top, a departure from what I usually write, woman topping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysabet/pseuds/umadoshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for a suggested prompt, which was "Georgia topping the hell out of Shaun", and...that's a reasonable summary of the resulting fic. (When I saw the prompt, I thought, <i>well, that's not what I usually write, but I could give it a shot</i>, and here we are!)</p><p>Set a year or so before <i>Feed</i>; no series spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Breath Could Break You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cantarina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantarina/gifts).



> Content advisory: The tags above don't include all of the sexual acts mentioned in the fic. I don't _think_ there are any terribly common squicks in here, but if you have concerns, click through to the end notes before reading for a list of additional elements/more detail on those in the tags.
> 
> Title from "Watching My Lover", by Lorna Crozier.

  
_"everything's so fragile here a breath could break you"_ \--Lorna Crozier

I don't blush easily. I never have, a fact that combines with my medically-required sunglasses to give me an impassive professional expression. Shaun is the only person I've met who can reliably make my face go hot, a power he uses exactly as often as he feels he can get away with it--which is to say, not very often.

What can make me blush isn't anything we _do_. It's the memory of how some things make me feel--a memory Shaun can conjure up in just one sentence murmured in my ear. _Remember how you feel when..._ Most of those are things we don't explore very often, for different reasons; some of them only happen at Shaun's initiative, even though I know he'd agree happily if they were my suggestion. Some of them are things we thought about carefully in advance the first or even tenth time.

And some were accidental discoveries. There was a time when we were nineteen when we were both exhausted but so wired that we started fucking almost as soon as we stumbled into our hotel room and checked the security. Being wired made the sex edgy and frantic; being that tired made us both clumsy. I was unsteady on top of him, and on the verge of asking if he wanted to trade positions, when I wobbled and leaned forward to brace myself.

It's entirely possible it was an unconscious desire that landed me with my hand splayed open across his throat. I flinched away from the sound Shaun made, but I didn't have time to get too scared that I'd really hurt him; he grabbed my hand and put it right back, gasping and still so satisfyingly hard inside me. "Do that again, George," he said.

It didn't occur to me until later that maybe I should be appalled or taken aback at how easy it was to rest my hand on his neck and squeeze. I didn't apply enough pressure to do more than make his vision spark--there was no blacking out, no pain, no bruising. There was only Shaun's pulse and _life_ in my hand, and an eagerness in his eyes.

There are moments when you can truly read your loved ones, when you simply know their answers to questions you've never asked. We were in that place when I realized that no matter how hard I squeezed, Shaun would take it; he'd let me choke him unconscious if that's what I wanted to do.

A part of me was terrified, seeing that look on his face. Another part was quietly awestruck.

The rest of me was so turned on I felt like _I_ was the one who might stop breathing.

I held on, tightening my grip a tiny bit and then releasing, over and over with the rhythm of our bodies, until after we'd both orgasmed. Afterwards we held each other and talked for a few minutes before sleep claimed us; neither of us were quite sure whether to chalk that aspect of our mutual pleasure up to how exhausted we were, or whether it warranted more exploration. But exhausted or not, we both knew I'd had one of the most intense orgasms of my life with my fingers around his throat.

**********

I generally let Shaun initiate anything involving power dynamics. It feels right for that to fall to him, even though he tends to bring it up when he thinks it would be particularly good for me, not himself.

Case in point: we were heading home after a particularly frustrating series of interviews that hadn't netted me anything like the results I'd been hoping for. I was already tense and grumpy when I went to start the van and then couldn't because Shaun hadn't put his seatbelt on. Before I could tell him to get on with it so we could _get home_ , he leaned closer and laid his hand on top of mine, where I was resting it on the steering wheel.

"Tie me up tonight," he said, sending an immediate, convulsive rush of heat through me. "It'll make you feel better."

"You know I hate it when you phrase it that way," I muttered. "It sounds like I'm taking something out on you."

"Too bad you're not the boss of me," he replied cheerfully. "At least not right now." He gave me an insolent grin--a look I get from him under a variety of circumstances. Most of the time it doesn't make me want to climb on top of him.

This was one of those other times. The sudden throb of desire between my legs was knife-sharp and exquisite.

I didn't climb on top of him. I also didn't reach over and unzip his pants, take his cock in my hand through his boxers, and jerk him until the soft cotton was damp with pre-come. I just said, "If you want us to get home in one piece, buckle up and don't look at me like that."

"Sorry, am I distracting you?" Shaun was, as always, entirely unrepentant. But he did put his seatbelt on.

**********

To hear people talk, almost any kind of bondage was considered the lightest of kinks before the Rising, short of flogging someone with a feather duster. Not anymore. In our world, where the person tying you up or strapping you down might have an aneurysm or heart attack and amplify before being able to free you--however unlikely the prospect--it's edgy, at the very least. It takes more than trust. For some people, it requires an armed spotter watching and probably getting their jollies from a safe distance. Voyeurs never had it so easy, in terms of getting their sexual urges met.

What Shaun and I needed before our first time trying it was the certainty that he _can_ get loose, if worse comes to worst. I learned ways to restrain him that look--and feel, he says--like he's securely bound, but we both know he can get himself free in about a minute and a half. It just hurts like hell to go through the contortions required, and he's not masochistic enough to do something like dislocate a thumb without good reason.

He's not _literally_ masochistic at all, but the angle at which I secure his wrists to the bed puts real strain on his body, enough to convince his instincts that he's well and truly trapped, even when it's only his wrists that are bound. It makes his muscles ache and eventually burn, and the excitement of knowing what's coming is usually enough to get him nice and hard, even if he doesn't get off on the actual sensation of being tied that way.

I half-knelt on the bed beside him, both of us naked, and traced his ribcage with my fingers. "How's that? Too tight?"

"Only a bit," he said. It wasn't a safeword, or a request for me to loosen anything. It was _I can take more if you want me to._

I tightened the restraints on his wrists a little more before sitting back to admire my handiwork: Shaun secured face-up on my bed, lying almost spread-eagled even though his legs were free. There's no real art to what I do, just effectiveness. The aesthetic of studded leather straps and gags isn't my thing, and those would need to be stored, anyway. And when we finally have our own space, when we can be truly safe together, I much prefer the thought of exploring the possibilities offered by rope. No blindfolds, no gags; I want him to watch, and I want to be able to hear him.

Wanting him to watch doesn't mean he can see all that well, not when we're in my room and I have only a low-powered UV lamp on. That makes the room a tiny bit dim to my eyes, and turns it to shadow for Shaun. With the lamp strategically placed by the bed, he can see my bare skin and not much beyond me, and that's how we both like it.

I started touching him slowly, enjoying the feel of his skin and the strength underneath, and just let myself want him--because oh, God, did I want him. I licked my thumb and grazed it over his nipple, eliciting a low groan. "Is anything off-limits?" I asked.

"No," Shaun said simply, his usual reply. Sometimes he sets boundaries, but not often.

"Okay." I leaned over and kissed him once, twice, a third time--each time harder than the last. With my mouth covering his, I caressed his inner thigh. The intoxicating lust I was feeling burned brighter at the way he automatically spread his legs further for me, letting me get my fingertips on the side of his knee. I kept them there just long enough for him to wonder, then raked my nails up his thigh, harder than I really should have, stopping only when the motion brought my hand into contact with his balls. I fondled them gently before bringing my hand to rest on his erection, moaning appreciatively into his mouth at how hard he was.

"For you," he said when I stopped kissing him. There was so much weight in those words, that encompassed so many things: his whole body, and his willingness to yield to whatever I wanted, despite it not being in his nature; it was a choice he made every time we did this, not the sating of a deeper need. His desire and pleasure, and the ache that would linger in his muscles for days afterwards--all of it was for me.

I wrapped my fingers around his cock, tempting him with what we both knew he wasn't getting yet. There's a fine line between temptation and torment, and I drew on both sides. I got the pad of my thumb wet from the first drops of fluid beading at the tip of his cock, then rubbed lightly all over the exposed, so-sensitive head.

This time there was nothing quiet about the groan that spilled out of Shaun's mouth as he fucked into my touch, getting friction down the length of his cock while I rubbed harder, finding that point where it stopped being comfortable for him but still felt so good, where just a few more firm strokes would bring him to orgasm.

I stopped instead, leaving him wildly aroused. "How do you feel?" I asked, laying my hand across his lips to keep him from answering verbally. His eyes were all the answer I needed--his eyes, and the fevered way he kissed my palm. I straddled his chest, putting my weight on him. When he felt how wet I was, his need to get his cock into me made him tremble under me.

I kept my hand on his mouth, giving him a much less satisfying--for him--outlet for all that need. He kissed and nibbled my skin, sucking at my fingers, doing everything he could to get me as horny as he was. My hands are sensitive enough to let him accomplish that, and I gave him some satisfaction and took some pleasure by rubbing myself against his chest, grinding down while I pushed my fingers into his mouth for him to lick and toy with.

Shaun has a clever tongue in all kinds of ways. The things he was doing to my fingers were knowing and pleasurable, wonderful on their own and a keen reminder of what else he could do with it. I reclaimed my hand with a sigh and put it between my legs instead, touching myself in a way he couldn't.

I've never looked into the history of the word "itch" becoming linked with desire; I've never needed to know for professional reasons, and personally, I like the etymology I've come up with. The insistent hot pulse of needing Shaun was exactly like an itch begging to be scratched, in that my body was convinced-- _convinced_ \--that I would feel better if I just touched myself a little. Just a quick metaphorical scratch would take care of it.

But it wasn't true, any more than scratching at a mosquito bite will make it feel better for more than a moment before the itch comes back stronger. My whole body was suffused with heat, and my fingers didn't ease either the ache inside me or the dizzying way my clit throbbed. It just got more intense.

The good news is that the resemblance to an itchy bite ends there--claw at a bite and you draw blood without getting any relief. Give in to your body's demands for sensation, on the other hand, and relief becomes a real option.

Shaun was barely breathing under me, too raptly focused on how I was masturbating on top of him. I ran a wet fingertip over his lips, inviting that clever tongue out to play. He gave me a smile that wouldn't have looked out of place after a handful of drinks, all soft edges and willingness to please, and lapped at my skin. I put my fingers under his chin, pushing his head up and back, and said, as steadily as I could manage, "You're going to make me come."

"How?" he asked.

We were both breathing shallowly now, in unison, which always sends a thrill through me. "With your mouth," I said, letting go of his chin. "I think you'll like that."

Shaun nodded--with understanding, not agreement, because I wasn't asking--and kept smiling as I placed myself above his mouth. The first thing I felt was the warm gust of his sigh, content but hungry, as I buried my fingers in his hair and got us both into a position where he could do as I'd said.

That was good: first his breath, followed by his tongue flicking against me. I moaned and pushed at his mouth, demanding what he was more than happy to give. He licked and sucked and kissed, never penetrating with more than the barest tongue-tip, but circling and circling until I was nearly doubled over with the need for something inside me. He was teasing, but not in a way I could criticize; I only enjoy being tongue-fucked in very particular moods, and he was literally in no position to finger or fuck me.

"Make me come," I said, when I truly couldn't stand it, and Shaun obeyed, focusing entirely on my clit. In less than a minute I was shaking and close to screaming, yanking hard enough on the hair tangled between my fingers that he gasped--with pain, yes, but not displeasure. A bit of pain here and there doesn't bother him, especially compared to some of the ways he gets hurt on the job. What I was doing stung, and his scalp would be a little sore for a few days, but in the meantime he got to have a sensation I don't usually give him.

He didn't stop until I moved away, muscles still trembling with ecstasy and making me fight for my balance while I knelt over his hips. The insides of my thighs were slippery-wet with his saliva and my own fluids; Shaun's lips and chin were glistening with the same mixture. I grabbed a small towel from beside a pillow and swiped it over my legs, but left his face untouched. Seeing evidence of my own pleasure on his skin hit a warm, satisfying, _primal_ chord in my chest.

_Mine._

Shaun looked at me looking at him, and then licked his lips--a slow display of circling tongue to remind me of what he'd just done to me. Without speaking, he watched while I caressed his cock again and made sure he was hard; he still said nothing as I pushed just the tip of his erection into myself, just deep enough to stay in place. I leaned forward and put my hand on his throat, finding the spots that would give him the greatest effect with the least risk--according to my judgment, not his. Sweat dampened his forehead while I held that tableau: the tiniest pressure on his neck, and my body only barely beginning to draw his in.

His lips shaped my name, but no sound escaped until I did what he'd been yearning for. I shoved down hard onto his cock, taking it all at once, and clamped my hand on his throat. The noise he made was halfway gone before it left his mouth, choked out of him and out of existence simultaneously.

We stayed still again, with his cock buried deep, deep in me and my grip cutting off most of his air supply. I watched his face while I squeezed: color stained his cheeks, and his eyelashes fluttered as he fought his own instinct to struggle. After several seconds he gave in to it all at once, hardwired resistance giving way to serenity. I kept holding on, as hard as I dared, while I began fucking myself slowly on him.

And then I let him go, so I could watch him gasp and suck down lungful after lungful of sweet air. I kept moving, giving myself over to the familiar, delicious sensation of my innermost muscles stretching to accommodate his cock, of our bodies settling snugly into place together.

Shaun lay there and breathed as I used him, while I found the exact pace and force and angle I wanted most. His eyes were glazed with the desire I could feel reverberating through him.

He'd only begun to catch his breath when a second orgasm washed through me. I put my hand on his neck again when his hips surged up under me in response. "Don't come," I ordered, rocking on him to make sure his cock had touched me everywhere inside. "Not yet."

Shaun just nodded, tipping his head back to expose his throat and encourage me to add more pressure. I squeezed until he was on the verge of blacking out--again--and then let go completely. That was going to have to do; I was light-headed from pleasure and not as confident of my judgment as I needed to be when messing with his breathing.

Standing up was tricky, with my legs so unsteady under me, but I managed it. I picked up two more restraints and spread his legs as wide as they'd go before binding his ankles. It put still more tension on his body, a steady pull in all directions.

I stroked the faint but angry red scratches along the inside of his thigh while I checked in. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said dreamily. "I'm good."

I smiled as I lay down between his thighs, kissing the side of his knee. "You are." I tongued the most visible scratch, following its path up his leg so I could delve into the vulnerable crease between the top of his leg and his testicles. It made Shaun try to squirm, but he only succeeded in whimpering softly. I shivered at the sound. He was sinking down into a mental space where only sensation mattered--only sensation and me, because I was the one giving it to him.

"You're _so_ good," I murmured, licking that same bit of skin before exhaling slowly across his balls. His entire body strained. "You're so good, and I'm going to touch inside you." I smiled again, even though he couldn't see it. "We're going to open you right up."

We didn't have any sex toys on hand; we rarely do. I'm too paranoid about our privacy to keep them in the house for long, so acquiring, using, and disposing of them quietly is a capital-P Procedure. It's a shame, though, because as much as Shaun enjoys it when I finger him, his response to being full-on fucked in the ass is nothing short of amazing. He loves the way it feels, and I love the way he gives in to it so utterly, lets himself be so vulnerable for me.

It leaves him a mess in every way. And every time, when I fuck him like that, he swears and sweats and babbles my name, spread out under me while I work up to doing him as hard as I can. He takes everything, letting himself be fucked open and rendered incoherent by the steady rubbing against his prostate.

I'll never know exactly how it feels to him when he fucks me hard and deep and it's his own body pumping in and out of mine; no matter how often or thoroughly I finger him, there's no way it can be the same. But I do know how I feel when I fuck him until he's begging and gouging his fingertips into my thighs with bruising need, his legs open wide and his cock thrusting into my hands if I'm jerking him. I know what it's like to fuck him that way until he orgasms, and I know how he looks afterwards, with his chest heaving and his torso streaked wet with his come.

Seeing him like that shook me to my bones the first time, as he lay there almost sobbing with relief and release. It made me--and still makes me--ache with the irrational urge to protect him. That first time, and every time since, I lay down on top of him and kissed his mouth more tenderly than I'd known I could. I kissed him and kissed him, and eventually he came to his senses enough to kiss me back, lips soft and eyes wide with astonishment.

Nothing else gets quite the same result, but that hardly means nothing else is worth doing.

Shaun's breathing was harsh and shallow with need when I kissed his hip. I sat up, pausing to kiss the head of his cock--slow and open-mouthed, tasting his desire and my own pleasure--and gathered up what I needed from the little heap of stuff we'd tossed to the side of the bed.

Before opening the lube, I pressed my right-hand fingers to Shaun's lips. "Kiss for luck?" I said, although luck wasn't really the goal. He gave me a glassy-eyed smile and kissed my fingertips before opening his mouth and sucking them.

We don't have many rituals, but that's one: before I penetrate him, he gives a bit of oral attention to whatever I'm going to use. When it's my fingers, it's an intimate gesture, all soft kisses and licks. When it's a toy, he takes it right into his mouth, kissing and sucking it like a flesh-and-blood cock, which is a powerful sight if it's something that can be strapped on. He gets on his knees for me at other times, too, but it's a very different experience to watch him perform fellatio on something that's about to be inside him.

"Perform" is the operative word--it doesn't give me direct stimulation, but he's doing it for me, letting me see what it would be like. And I know what to do, so if my hips twitch at the sight, if I respond, he keeps going.

Shaun was one of those boys whose childhood attempts to gross other kids out included learning how to move his ears independently, roll his tongue in odd ways...and put things like carrots disturbingly far into his mouth. So neither of us had exactly been surprised to find out for sure that, unlike me, he can deep-throat a reasonably-sized phallic object. Out of bed, he's sometimes annoyingly smug about having the knack, but when he's actually _doing_ it, it's another story entirely.

When I think about the clichéd statement that our brains are our most important erogenous zones, that's often what comes to mind: Shaun on his knees in front of me, gripping my ass, and getting me painfully aroused by performing a sexual act I can't feel.

Now he was sucking my fingers, caressing them with his tongue, and it was a very different but no less pleasurable experience. When he stopped, we just looked at each other for a long moment, savoring the closeness of what we were doing. Then I kissed his mouth lightly, followed by kisses to his throat, his collarbone, and all the way down his body until I was settled back between his thighs.

I slipped on a latex glove, smeared lube on my fingers and blew across it to warm it a bit, and got started. I always go slow when I'm in control of what we're doing, whether Shaun's in the mood for that or not; I've never, ever hurt him while playing with or fucking his ass, and I don't plan to start.

The fact that going too carefully for his tastes means he starts begging for it--if he's not in a position to hurry me, which he often is--is just icing on the cake.

I started with one slippery fingertip, pressing a little without entering him at all, and rubbed in slow circles. "Relax for me," I said softly, even though he mostly was; talking to him steadily is hypnotic for us both. "Relax and feel it."

"I am," he said, voice as low as mine--for now. "I am, I swear, so please--" I eased the finger in, only to my first knuckle. " _Please_ , George, please fuck me, come on." From this point, in the instinctive part of his mind, anything I did to him was _fucking_ , no matter what I used.

I applied more lube and pushed in a tiny bit further; it would only take a little effort to get a pair of fingers fully inserted. I won't hurt him, but some delay and torment? Oh, yes. I grinned when his hips jerked as if he were fucking--as if he had the range of motion to do it.

That set the tone for the next half hour. I have the patience of a stone in some ways, and Shaun doesn't. The first quarter hour was more than enough to leave him shaking and moving against the restraints, and that was before I slipped my finger right into him, and then another. I touched him slowly, deliberately avoiding his prostate as much as possible while I did as I'd promised: I opened him up, so carefully that he was writhing and pleading by the time I'd gone as far with that as I wanted to.

Now would be when I'd fuck him properly if we were equipped for it. Instead, I lifted myself up enough to lick along his cock, making him strain for my mouth and the relief it could give him.

"George," he whispered, rough-voiced with need and thirst. We had water, but I was pretty sure he'd get back at me somehow if I stopped the stimulation altogether to give it to him.

"Okay," I replied, kissing the base of his cock. I flexed my fingers inside him--I'd gotten three in--and stretched them apart, pushing back at the muscle clenching around them. His entire body went rigid, as if he was holding his breath desperately underwater.

Shaun stayed tense until I found his prostate with my middle finger. He made a sound like a choked-off scream when I rubbed, and from there we fell into a rhythm quickly. No matter how tightly-strung he was, we know each other's bodies well enough that he was able to relax as soon as I began thrusting my fingers, working and filling him. His body knew that satisfaction was just around the corner.

That didn't keep him from begging for it, which he does in large part because I find it so hot. It was just part of the rhythm, his hips and my hand moving while he said, over and over, "Fuck me, just fuck me, George, pleasepleaseplease fuck me," an almost prayerful chant that made my blood sing.

I fucked him like that and caressed his cock until he orgasmed, a rush of liquid up along his belly and down his sides in rivulets. My hands moved steadily until he was panting, recovering from the intensity of it; it wasn't until his breathing steadied that I withdrew my fingers, peeling the glove off inside-out and tossing it into the small garbage bin by my desk for proper disposal later.

I spent a moment just gazing. I never get used to the sight of Shaun lying like that--so thoroughly debauched, his face showing only contentment and trust.

He didn't stir or open his eyes while I applied tissues and then a towel to his body, or while I untied him, but when I handed him a glass of water he smiled up at me. He was sticky and serene and beautiful, and he looked at me like I was heaven on earth.

His hand trembled when he took the glass, but then, so did mine. I can't imagine seeing him in that dazed, content state--knowing it's because of _me_ , that I have the power to do that to him--without feeling that familiar tingle of awe and fear.

"Hey," he said gently, after drinking deep, and I smiled back at him as I lay down and gathered him tight in my arms to feel him breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the pre-fic notes, this story also contains or refers to: topping without sadism, topping without humiliation, anal fingering (woman performing on man), pegging, orgasm denial, begging, facesitting, and fellatio performed on sex toys.


End file.
